


Carrying Our Own Baggage

by aparticularbandit



Series: Roisa Fic Week 2k19 [1]
Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/F, mention of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparticularbandit/pseuds/aparticularbandit
Summary: When Rose asks if she still wants to run away with her, Luisa agrees, but what she learns is more than what she expected.Fulfillment of Alternate JTV Prompt for Roisa Fic Week 2k19.





	Carrying Our Own Baggage

“Do you still want to run away with me?”

Rain pelted against the window panes, slung there by a wind that was still fading after the hurricane hit only hours before. The sky outside was dark and still so cloudy that she couldn’t see the stars – Betty hadn’t wanted the bed next to the window, too afraid that someone would break in and get to her; Luisa had wanted it, had wanted the small glimpse of freedom that was waiting for her if she could just reach out and grab it.

“It’s kind of hard to run away with someone when you’re stuck in a mental institution.”

She wasn’t even sure if Betty was still awake. Truth be told, she’d forgotten about her for the past few hours, too focused on Rose and the sounds her stepmother _couldn’t_ be making if she wanted to avoid the nurse’s attention. She didn’t remember when she’d unbound her wrists, either. There was a lot she didn’t remember – minor details, unimportant – and a lot she did – the shuddering of Rose’s body as she bit down on her lips to keep from shouting out, the tensing of her stomach at Luisa’s touch (whether it was soft or rough), the – oh, yes, _that_ was when she’d untied her hands, when she’d wanted to get her shirt off without ripping it, when the other woman, finally free, had raked her nails through Luisa’s hair and down her neck, _to touch, to touch, to touch_.

“If….” Rose’s voice faded away as she began to fidget, twisting the gaudy gold ring on her right middle finger. “If you weren’t,” she whispered, “would you still?”

She wasn’t even looking at her. She was too focused on the ring. Her father would never buy anything like that. Another ring, sure, maybe – but his taste was much more classy than that huge _thing_ decorating Rose’s finger. Maybe it was something to remind herself of…something. She couldn’t imagine what. Her father would never love Rose’s curls like this, either – all frizzy and unkempt and tight little corkscrews instead of the cultured, cascading waves she wore whenever he was around, whenever he visited, whenever they were together. Her father would never love the Rose she knew and loved best, the one she sometimes imagined was real.

She…didn’t want to think about that.

“I don’t know.” Her eyes drifted towards the window, towards the palm trees whose branches had been ramming the window what felt like only moments earlier. The wind was calmer now, despite the storm still raging outside. “I think….” She swallowed once and turned, focusing on crystal blue eyes that were now watching her curiously. “If you would run away with me, I would go anywhere.”

* * *

“Keep packed,” Rose said before she left, her voice nothing more than a faint whisper. “Be ready.”

She didn’t say for what, but Luisa knew it, deep within the hollow places in her bones.

_In case I come back for you._

* * *

Days passed. She kept all of her things tidy and neat. There was a lot of free time in the mental institution when she wasn’t busy going to her daily therapy sessions – _everyone needs to carry their own baggage_ – and more often than not she spent that making sure her clothes were folded and refolded and refolded again. It became such a nervous tick that she started sitting on her hands, which _hurt_, explaining to Betty that if she did that it might keep her from making sure she was ready for whatever it was Rose might or might not do.

But as the time passed, she could feel her heart sink. The desire to check decreased, but she made sure that everything was prepared. It hadn’t even been a week. The problem was that the Rose she knew wouldn’t do anything at all, would only _say_ that she would and then wouldn’t follow through, leaving her constantly hoping with no reward.

It was worse in the mental institute because there wasn’t really anything to distract her from it, from the constant thinking and hoping and wondering. Maybe that made her look at it a little too closely. Maybe she was just tired.

* * *

It was sunny outside when the nurse – _not_ the desperate one, the other one, with the cruel eyes and the downturned lips so thin they might as well not have existed – opened her door. “Luisa Alver?”

“Yes?” Her voice was far stronger than her hope. Rose’s brooch remained hidden beneath her pillow; if she was caught with it, the nurses would take it away, not because they were afraid she would use it to break out but because they were afraid of her using it to rip lines in her skin (or Betty’s – or the opposite, if Betty ever grew tired of her conversation).

“Get your things. Your stepmother is here to check you out.”

Her heart leapt into her throat as the nurse dropped her suitcase in the room and left it there for her alone. She turned to Betty with wide eyes. Betty smiled and reached over just enough to pat her hand fondly before she began packing.

* * *

There was _maybe_ a ten-minute wait before the door opened again, and the nurse ushered her out, just enough time for her to hide the brooch among her other belongings, which were now all shoved into her suitcase. They gave her a little grey cardboard box at the door – this one filled with what she’d had on her when she was checked in but that they wouldn’t allow her to keep with her: cell phone, car keys, wallet. Then they shuffled her through the cage door, and she barely heard the jolting sound as it shut behind her with a clang that sounded like finality.

Rose stood just outside the cage door, back to her, red hair perfectly curled and brushed to one side, dancing across a shoulder that beneath her rosy blouse was covered with the most beautiful freckles she had ever seen. She’d tried to count them multiple times but had never been able to keep track of just which ones she’d counted and which ones she hadn’t, and Rose had always steadfastly refused to let her pull out an ink pen and circle them as she counted. _Even the smallest line would cover them_, she’d said, _and your count will be off_. At the time, she’d nodded her agreement, but in truth, she’d thought it more likely that Rose hadn’t wanted her father to suspect by seeing all the lines sketched across her flesh.

At the sound of her suitcase wheeled across the floor, Rose turned to face her, and their eyes met.

She took a deep breath.

“You’re here.”

Rose took in her unkempt appearance, eyes flicking up and down once, and then nodded once. “Let’s go.”

* * *

_Power of attorney_, Rose said as they drove away in a sleek black car with tinted windows. _Your father didn’t want your mental health in his hands, not after your—_

She’d interrupted her then. She hadn’t wanted to think about her mother. She’d had enough of that during her time in the mental institution. _Both_ times.

Rose had her throw her suitcase in the back, but Luisa had stopped her just long enough to pull the brooch out of the front pocket. _This is yours_, she said as she got into the car, handing it over. _I was going to use it to break out, but I don’t need it anymore._

Her eyes had grown wide then, and she’d lifted her chin so that their eyes could meet, and she hadn’t said anything, had just looked at her for a moment before giving her a gentle kiss.

Then they left. They didn’t go far before they parked in the back of a nearly abandoned parking lot and switched cars, a practice that happened at least three more times with various states of parking lot, Rose looking more and more tense, before they stopped in the harbor far from the beaches of Miami.

A submarine was waiting for them.

“When you run away, you _really_ run away, don’t you?”

Her hands were white knuckled on the clasp of her suitcase. This seemed a little extreme for someone who just didn’t want to out herself, who was only supposed to be afraid of being with a woman, and for the first time, Luisa wondered if there was something else going on that she didn’t know about. It twisted in the pit of her stomach almost as much as it had when she’d been sent to the mental institution in the first place.

But her eyes flicked to where her stepmother’s wedding ring once was, and she felt nothing but warmth flooding her heart at seeing her finger bare and exposed.

“I will explain everything,” her lover said, “once we’re in the sub.”

She shook her head as she followed her into the depths. “You don’t have to explain anything. I trust you.”

* * *

…which _at the time_ was not an exaggeration but _on second thought_ probably _should have been_.

She _really_ should have listened to the clenching of her stomach.

In fact, the one _bright_ spot in that explanation was that at least she wasn’t inviting her stepmother to cheat on her father anymore.

* * *

“So the police will let him out?”

It was the first thing she could think to say, eyes focusing not on the woman across from her but on the small circular windows and the deep sea outside of them. “They’re not really going to think he’s…he’s _Sin Rostro_, are they? Not for long?”

“No,” Rose said, stretching out on the bed that was meant to be theirs, legs crossing as she looked up to the cold metal bolts covering the ceiling above them. “Your brother will make sure of that. Your brother and the police investigator who would rather pin this on him but doesn’t have the proof for it.” She turned just enough to face her, blue eyes calm as the sea. “He won’t be there long.”

She nodded once. It was all too easy for Rose to be stretched out and relaxed, curved just enough to look at her and gauge her reaction, but she couldn’t keep her heart from pounding, pounding, pounding in her chest. “Why,” she started, her voice caught in her throat, “are you taking me with you?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Because I love you.”

“No, really.”

She watched her lover’s face and hoped that the reaction she was seeing was what was really there. But she couldn’t be sure. She’d thought she had Rose all figured out, but she’d come to find out that she hadn’t known anything about her at all. “There has to be something you want me for. More than just…love.”

Rose moved closer and curled around Luisa where she was sitting, carefully laying her head in her lap. Her finger began to trace circles on the skin of her thigh. “Luisa, if I didn’t want you, you would be dead right now.”

Oh.

Well.

That put _that_ into perspective.

“But you do want me. For something.”

Rose was quiet then, continuing to draw circles on her thigh, and after a few minutes passed, Luisa began to thread her fingers through her ex-stepmother’s now tight, corkscrew curls. Her lips pressed together. It wasn’t easy, but she tried to focus on the sound of the water around them. That sort of thing was supposed to be comforting. All those cds with recordings of waterfalls and rivers and brooks and the ocean – maybe there was a really good reason that they didn’t include _submarine_ – probably the mechanic whir in the background and the occasional _kerthunk_ of something that sounded like it was going wrong but she was certain the famous _Sin Rostro_ wouldn’t waste her money on a crotchety, broken sub. Machines just made sounds like that sometimes. They just weren’t very relaxing.

“If you tell me what it is,” she said, finally, unable to hold the silence any longer, “I’ll get it for you. Then you don’t have to waste your time with me anymore.”

Her throat felt colder, colder still as Rose’s fingers stilled, as Rose used the flats of her hands to push herself up, as she looked at her and then away. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

If she wasn’t so terrified and confused, she would scoff at that. “You’re _Sin Rostro_. I’m sure you’re used to taking what you want from people. That’s your entire _job_. How can you _not be good_ at that?”

“I’m not _wasting my time with you_.” The words came out in a rush. Rose seemed unable to be completely still, her hands fidgeting with each other. She’d always been better at explaining through action, through _motion_, than through her words. “Luisa, I _love_ you. I’ve _always_—”

“Your voice says you’re lying.”

“_I’m not lying._”

“It _sounds_ like you are.”

Rose’s jaw clenched, and her muscle twitched under her skin. It wasn’t a _good_ thing, but Luisa had always considered it as scoring a point whenever she’d bothered her enough to get that reaction. After a while, it hadn’t even been hard.

On an impulse, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Rose softened and turned to her just enough for their eyes to meet. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

The words hung in the air between them. It was vulnerable, too vulnerable, but Rose wasn’t acting as though it was, instead holding onto her gaze as much as she could. For her part, with such an admittance, Luisa wouldn’t be looking up, would be looking down, at her hands, at the sheets, anything but at the other woman whose reaction could all so easily break her. Maybe that was the thing.

Maybe Rose just wasn’t afraid that she could hurt her.

“You love me,” she repeated finally, echoing the words, turning them over hesitantly on her tongue, breaking their eye contact. “You’re _Sin Rostro_,” she said, looking up briefly, “the crime lord who has been using the Marbella as a front and who has been— You’ve been _killing people_—”

“Only the people who deserved it.”

“—don’t interrupt.” She glanced up again. “You’ve been killing people. Not just Zazu or the bellboy, but…other people. You’ve killed a lot of other people.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Rose said with a slow nod, “but _for the record_, I did not kill Roman Zazo.”

It always felt weird to hear his real name spoken aloud. For her, he’d always been Zazu, like the annoying little bird in _The Lion King_. Rafael’s second in whatever he put his hand to – fraternity brothers, roommates, best friends – he’d likely influenced Raf in some of his more dangerous _and jail bait_ actions. She wasn’t exactly _sad_ her brother’s best man was now dead.

“Point not in your favor. I would have forgiven you that one.”

“But not the rest of them?”

She looked up and met Rose’s eyes, and there was no shock there, no annoyance, just that grin of hers, and the twinkle of mischief in her eyes, and the laugh tucked just in the corner of her lips. Then she was silent, considering, and she needed to hear the words out loud, so she started again, focusing on her fidgeting hands instead of the woman next to her. “You are the murderous crime lord Sin Rostro, and you’re in love with me?”

There was no hesitation.

“Yes.”

She looked up, searching the eyes so crystal blue that she once felt like she could look into them forever and feel like she was falling, flying, _drowning_. “You don’t want anything else from me?”

“No.” Rose reached over just enough for their fingers to touch, and when she chose not to flinch away, she intertwined their fingers. “We’re running away together, Luisa. I don’t want anything _from_ you. I just. want. _you_.” Her voice was gentle. “Would that work for you?”

She watched their fingers join together and swallowed once. It would be so easy to just say yes. She’d always wanted this – to run away with Rose – and sure, maybe the whole _crime lord_ thing was a bit of a shock, but in the grand scheme of things, did it matter? Well, yes, the _murdering people_ bit did, but—

“Would you have to still be a crime lord?” she asked, still not looking up. “Could you maybe _not_ kill people while we’re together?”

“I have enemies, Luisa. I can’t promise to not kill people when that might be what keeps you safe.”

“So, _exceptions_,” she said, waving one hand, “killing your enemies who are trying to kill me is acceptable.” Her eyes widened then, and she looked up, “But not Michael. You can’t do anything to him. He hasn’t done anything to you, and he’s not trying to _kill_ us, so you have to leave him alone.”

“You don’t even _like_ Michael. And neither does Raf.”

“_No_, Rose.” She crossed her arms. “Just because you don’t like someone in your family doesn’t mean you kill them or go crime lord on them.”

“That’s what _my_ family does.”

“_No._”

Rose took a deep breath. “Ok. No more killing people – _with exceptions_ – and no more criminal activity. Anything else?”

It was only then that she understood how seriously Rose was taking this. She turned back to her, and she nodded once. “You won’t be with anyone else. Just me. No being married to my father anymore. No being with…with _anyone else_ anymore. No _leaving me_ anymore, no throwing me into a mental institution anymore, no—”

“Luisa.” Rose reached forward and cupped her face, thumb brushing along the tears she hadn’t realized were beginning to fall. “It might be complicated, but I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

She nodded into the hands cupping her face and looked up and _now Rose looked blurry_ because she couldn’t help but be crying, and her voice was _maybe_ a little choked when she said, finally, “Ok.” She nodded again. “_Ok._” She leaned forward and brushed their noses together. “Ok. I’ll try. I’ll—”

And she thought Rose had kissed her well before, but that was nothing compared to how she kissed her now. It felt like breathing again, like she’d been drowning under all the ocean pressure, but now, it was like the first time she’d looked into Rose’s eyes, and she felt, she felt like—

_Flying._

Which, if Disney had anything to say about it, was just exactly the same as falling.

But with _style_.

**Author's Note:**

> Rafael sat down across from his father, the legs of his metal chair screeching as he dragged them across the floor. The older man was dressed in an ugly, unflattering orange and handcuffs locked his hands both together and to the table. His beard was unkempt from going just a little too long without being touched up, but his eyes were just as piercing as he looked up.
> 
> “Where’s Rose?”
> 
> “Dad, there’s been a bit of a problem with—”
> 
> “My wife is meant to be my lawyer in these sorts of situations. That’s why I married her.” Emilio leaned back in his own metal chair. “Whatever you have to say to me can wait until after that.”
> 
> “That’s the problem, Dad,” Rafael said, leaning forward. “Rose seems to have disappeared.”
> 
> “Disappeared,” Emilio echoed.
> 
> Rafael nodded once, firm. “It seems she checked Luisa out of the mental hospital, and the two of them ran off together.” His hands were clasped between his legs, and his feet tapped on the ground once. “The police haven’t been able to find her.” His teeth grit together, and he looked up to the ceiling. “Them. Either of them. They’re both gone.”
> 
> Emilio tugged on his beard and sighed. Then he rubbed his hand over his head. “Your sister has a troubling habit of stealing our—”
> 
> “I’m not worried about that.” Rafael leaned forward. “I’m worried that Rose is Sin Rostro and she just kidnapped Luisa.”
> 
> “Sin Rostro? Maybe. Kidnapped Luisa? I doubt it.” Emilio sighed. “No, Luisa went willingly.”
> 
> “You think she’s—”
> 
> “Smarter than you give her credit for,” Emilio said, leaning back in his chair again and crossing his arms, “and she’s not drinking. That’s the important thing.”
> 
> Rafael pushed his chair back and stood up, turning away from his father. “If she’s run off with a crime lord – your wife – then—”
> 
> “She knows what she’s doing.”
> 
> “You put too much faith in her,” Rafael said, slamming the door behind him as he left.
> 
> Emilio let out a sigh. “And you don’t give her enough,” he murmured as the police came to take him back to his cell.


End file.
